Bloody Bouquet
by All In Red
Summary: And all he could do was offer her that bouquet of roses. The supposed white ones. Stained. With his own red blood, the memories swallowing him. Spoilers from the anime. Rated T because of my intricate and dark mind. Requested One-Shot.


Summary: And all he could do was offer her that bouquet of roses. The supposed white ones. Stained. With his own red blood, the memories swallowing him. Rated T because of my intricate and dark mind.

Excuse my mistakes and weirdness. I'm terribly in love with the dark side of anime...

I do not own Another.

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Kouichi only stood there as he looked over the marble of the tombstone. Lying here was none other than something that pricked him in the chest, making him remember such bloodshed and agony of his tragic of junior high. He kneeled down, keeping the white roses in hand as the wisps of grass tickled his bare knees. How long has it been since he lost her?

Mei and Kouichi had grown closer right after junior high, coming to the point where they were together, nearly everywhere they went. They were too merciless to admit themselves, ignoring the fact that they had entered a level full of intimacy. The good thing was, that nobody bothered to care about what they were in their social standing, for it seemed that the calamity memories of the lodge during Summer had never seemed to die down. Well, thanks to the words uttered by no other than the careless Naoya mentioning it. It was as of a simple keyword cracked everyone, even if they weren't in the cursed class; they have heard the rumors.

And now, here was Mei, dead, accused and bruised into the soil as one of the earth. Jeez, had they realized that Mei wasn't responsible, she wouldn't have to be down there. In fact, since this topic had been brought up, why did he feel that only he cared about whether she was among the living or dead?

What had made life even worst for him was his high school years. It seemed that in a coincidence, they had been placed in a class which the calamity had spread part of its virus. It didn't manage to kill anyone, only about the average of one. This was his new hell. Yet he didn't have Mei to stand by him.

Mei... What _did_ she mean to him?

Sure, they had met in that fermented and gore-like doll shop, his eyes would sometimes wander into the deep comparison of how the doll in the casket nearly had the same form as her. He somewhat came to adore Mei, whether it be the mysterious background behind her, or how he'd grown accustomed to staying by her. Fate's pick.

It was Mei that had pulled him into a madness he couldn't escape from, but it somehow brought light into his eyes. Being around Mei wasn't all that bad. She was definitely a good artist, especially with her impression when they had made contact in the library. She had a curious side, yet it seemed illegible to read, like weathered text scrolls and other ancient wording.

Mei wasn't at all a bad person; it just took some time and patience. Yet he could feel a bit tense around her, being her dark and ominous atmosphere. But rather, that background had triggered people into thinking that she was rather a bad omen. And the outcome; the fear and insanity that drove them to the point where they had waited for death to claim them. Besides, they were more wasted into thinking that Mei was the extra, or him, only to get themselves killed in return. It could have even been themselves for bloody's sake!

Mei. Even after her death, he _still_ thought of her.

Her eyepatch. A sign of what plastic and profanity lay within that forbidden socket, and how it worked as another side to her story.

Her story. A twin-like relative, the doll that she had delivered in the hospital towards her dying loved one. The thing that triggered their first meeting, their fates entwined at her sight.

How was it that he had doubts, when all it took was just needing to understand her?

And so it had been, that Kouichi had somehow found the guts to buy her some flowers, preferably roses to show his affection and attention to someone like Mei, who had seemed completely ignored. Her death was unaccountable, unable to be identified. Every time, they were white. Pure white roses.

Until today, when the bouquet dropped lushly on the grassy area as the boy clutched his chest and spat out a sticky crimson liquid, staining the flowers with red blotches. His breath was cutting off, his throat aching and burning with a pain that seemed to have the same effect as having a blade slitting your throat wide open.

He held on to his chest tight, unable to cry out for help, as he collapsed, his nape colliding forcefully with the cold stone of the tombstone, leaving him unconscious. If he was correct, his lung had seemed to collapse on him, and what's worst, he hit the stone with a hard impact, toggling him into the blackness of the hellbound prison of his head. Lying still, his eyes were wide open, staring at the sky as if it was swallowing him into its nothingness of red-orange and magenta. It seemed that he was considered the next victim, already taken down by calamity that should have been put to rest.

As the last rays of light were insight and tip-felt, he knew that he'd be reliving the moments of his life, only to be sent into the same hell as Mei. Yes, he would definitely see her again. No longer would he have to cap his feelings or others in. He was freed of such time warps of the past. Now, he was in the hell that would take him in like its own child.

He swore he felt light fingertips brushing against him. A warmth surrounding him. In thought, he knew it was hell, but it had not only been the agony, but possibly a certain shade of grey that had come to take him with her.

Mei Misaki, was mystery all he felt around her? _No_.

It was _much_ more. It was _not_ just her eyepatch.

She was the hand to hold on as he traveled to death.

Of course, someone found him later on, wailing and screaming in utterly horror at his dead body. Yet the only thing that she ignored, and what the police had ignored too, was the bloody bouquet of roses. They may have thought bluff, but heck, their main ideal was all revolved around his lung, not wanting to reread the text on the gravestone and bring more dilemma. Yet no matter the case, all was accepted, but it somehow seemed that all was known for, expect for the bloody bouquet in the open grass of the grave.

_I'll see you in Hell, Kouchi._ And it was nothing but rose petals before he met the bottom.

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**R&R. I know it's not my best, but heck, at least it's something. Here you go, little sister of mine.**


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